


in the place/ where you used to have your heart/ there's a cold metal/ of black blood

by soniagiris



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Corruption, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Innocence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soniagiris/pseuds/soniagiris
Summary: No war is worth it. Every war is cursed.





	in the place/ where you used to have your heart/ there's a cold metal/ of black blood

**Author's Note:**

>   * title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FANTzsz0dd4); here's[ the translation](http://www.tekstowo.pl/piosenka,maria_peszek,zolnierzyk.html) c:, idk if it works for ny'all american folk, but ehhhh
>   * warnings in the end notes
> 


It all resolved itself in the end. At least, that's what his rescuers say to Makoto, that's what everyone likes to say with proud smiles. They freed them, all nine of them, and Hagakure, too, good old Hagakure who had an idea to call for help, resulting in the soldiers under Togami's and Komaru's command blowing up the wreckage by the entrance and slipping inside like blood in cracks. Even so, six people are dead. Even so, almost half of the Foundation's leaders are dead. Six amazing, hopeful people who could have a hand in restoring the world, who could love and laugh and smile... Naegi feels the familiar burn of unspilled tears gathering underneath his eyelids and clenches his fist til his nails bit into soft skin of his palm as he's stepping in the belly of Foundation's helicopter.

I won't forget them, he promises to himself. I will never forget any of them. Another tally of names to whisper before falling asleep. 

Sayaka. Mukuro. Leon. Chihiro. Mondo. Kiyotaka. Hifumi. Celestia. Sakura.

(Junko).

Chisa. Daisaku. Gozu. Tengan. Seiko. Juzo.

Naegi says those names silently, testing how they'd feel, barely moving his lips, but Togami notices, for his grip on Makoto's fingers momentary tightens. Naegi nods at him, trying to smile reassuringly, then looks outside, because it's evident Togami didn't fall for that. Sees familiar, thin and long-limbed silhouette of a man that used to stand so tall and proud just a few days ago, now limp and somehow smaller in comparison to officers leading him into other chopper, his wrists bound behind his back and head hung low.

"Don't worry, bro," Komaru says quietly while touching his shoulder in what is probably supposed to be comfort. "They're gonna take care of him, you know."

"Take care or..." Makoto purses his lips. " _ Take care _ ?"

Togami and Komaru exchange looks, before the former says with voice devoid of any emotions,

"I don't know."

 

* * *

 

No one is particularly surprised when the helicopters fly straight to Foundation's main hospital. Quickly, it turns out to be the best course of action, considering everyone was drugged several times, and some of them have wounds differentiating in severity — not to even mention true Miaya, found by Izayoi, her fragile body chained to the wall as if she was a— a cow's cadaver in slaughterhouse, slashes on her bare legs and finger marks on her birdlike throat.

When Makoto thinks about how much did he trust fake Miaya, and about green pigtails and green eyes, he can't stop himself from shaking and reaching for Komaru's hand, using his sister's warmth to ground himself.

"It's over, Makoto," she whispers to him one night, one long night reeking of ghosts and blood. "It's all over, you're here, you're safe, it's over, you're all safe and sound."

Togami, sitting on Naegi's bed and curling into himself, doesn't say anything, not even a scathing remark that hides kindness, and his eyes are dark and alien, and haunted in the dilluted light falling from corridor. Makoto wonders if his own eyes look the same. 

Just three years ago, everything was beautiful and peaceful, and so serenely normal. He was sixteen, and innocent, and never would've thought he'd witness so much bloodshed, see so many radiant people fall into despair's clutches, he never would've thought he'd realize how tired and old Komaru and Byakuya, and Kyouko, and Aoi, and Yasuhiro look. He'd never thought he'd spot the same incredible exhaustion every single time he'd see his own reflection.

The oldest one of them, of the survivors, Kizakura, is thirty two and, while he holds himself like a young adult would, he's also so, so tired. Rest of them — not even one is older that twenty five. Makoto's nineteen, while Komaru's barely sixteen. And isn't it terrifying, Naegi thinks even though he doesn't want to, my little sister, my small Komaru...

Naegi doesn't cry, just locks his soft, small fingers around Komaru's hard and yielding. Togami looks away, tension in his spine a sign of fatigue. Makoto can almost see Kirigiri from her room on the other side of the wall, with her legs pulled towards her chest and eyes tracing non-existent trajectories on the night sky. Quiet, haunted children soldiers, all four of them.

The one and only good thing about this whole mess — because of hospitalization, not a single on of them will be expected to come to Munakata's trial scheduled for next week, not even the defendant himself.

Makoto closes his eyes and turns those two words (voluntary manslaughter, voluntary manslaughter) on his tongue, until they taste like ash and iron, sour and final.

 

* * *

 

Just after Kirigiri is discharged and crashes in Makoto's apartment, crutches thrown haphazardly on his couch, the trial comes to an end, frightfully quickly. The verdict was to be expected — a lifetime commitment to mental health facility, even though several radicals screamed about 'shooting bastard in the head'. Thankfully, the attorney was good, and Miaya's psych profile, while short and extremely succint, also was full of words like 'trauma', 'breakdown', 'temporal insanity' or 'PTSD'. Naegi can't help but chuckle bleakly at that — in this world, nearly everyone has some screws loose. It's awful, alright, so he immediately sombers, turns off TV and reaches for his phone, calls Andou, because Kizakura's probably already drunk, Aoi's off on a mission with Fukawa and Komaru, Mitarai refuses to talk about what has happened, and so does Sonosuke. So, Ruruka it is.

"You saw that, right?" she says without any form of greeting. Makoto hums an agreement, and she spits out, "What a load of bullcrap. That psycho killed Tengan, and Sakakura, and, and probably offed S-Seiko..."

"That was not him," Naegi repeats after Miaya. "It could've been me, or you, or even Mitarai or Aoi, or K-Kyoko.." He hates how his voice falters, how he recalls the image of Kyoko with blood on her gloves (that was after they escaped Hope's Peak, that was the first time he saw her kill someone). "And Kimura was killed by the traitor." The traitor, the killer, the attacker, the remnant of despair, who escaped, so now Naegi has to wonder whose dead body is fake, who watched with glee as Naegi mourned them. For now, the official theory is that Monaka Towa did it. Naegi isn't sure, though.

"Well, I'd never kill anybody," Andou says arrogantly, bringing him back to earth from his pondering, and Makoto can hear Sonosuke's grunt of compliance. Yes, of course he's there, after escaping he didn't left Ruruka's side for a mere minute.

"Do I really have to mention those bombs?" Naegi asks, and he can't muster up even an ounce of humor. "You went full Komaeda there, you two."

"Truth be told..." She lets out a snort of hollow laughter. "Truth be told, I got to know it was Nagito Komaeda who bombed the hell out of Academy only, like, few days ago. I blamed Seiko for it..." she adds much quieter, then, without any inflection: "We're all terrible people, aren't we. Shoulda be happy Monaka got blamed for all of those deaths or we'd be seriously fucked."

Naegi doesn't respond, just stares ahead, words not to be ever spoken lingering inbetween Andou and him, memories of pointing fingers and piercing accusations fresh and raw.

Finally, she asks:

"You going to talk to him?"

"Probably," Makoto says truthfully. "I mean, he's got no one else, while we all are now..."

"Friends?" Ruruka finishes his assumption. "Yeah. We are. I mean, was there any other option?"

"Are you okay with that?" Naegi asks, then. "You're not sure it was Monaka, right? And you think Seiko died because of Munakata."

"Who the fuck knows." Ruruka sighs. Her voice is steel-cold as she says, "All footage lost, so there's no point in throwing more shit at him. He already got what he deserves."

 

* * *

 

"Any rules to follow?" Naegi asks the guard, a hefty man with foreign accent, positioned before Munakata's room (or cell, but for now they call it a room). The man smirks.

"Nah, not really. Dude's doped up on morphine, 'cause there's some shit going on with his ribs, some com-plex frac-tu-re, y'know, after that fall ol' Tengan granted him, so, anyway, he mighta be loopy, but not dangerous." He sends Makoto a measuring look, then says, "Truth be told, never thought he'd go nuts like tha', fucking psycho."

"Okay, thank you," Naegi bows with fake smile plastered on. "May I go in, then?"

"Knock yourself out, man." 

The guard opens the door, allowing Makoto to see what has become of former Ultimate Council President, ex vice-chairman of Future's Foundation, one of the world's greatest symbols of hope.

Makoto's first thought is:

_ I didn't know he's so young. _

Despite Naegi's sharp intake of breath and sound of door closing, Munakata doesn't rise his eyes — eye — from a book he's reading, just flips a page. Naegi shuffles his feet and tries not to stare at the man half-lying in broad, stark-white bed, at his pale skin and grey bruises above his sharp cheekbones, thin, dishelved hair, long fingers tight on the book's spine, prominent bandage hiding half of his face.

Finally, Munakata asks:

"Are you glad now, Makoto Naegi? You accomplished what you wanted. Your hope won." 

Naegi opens his mouth to answer, then swallows and thinks for a while. It's... strange, kind of strange, how easily Munakata gave up. It's almost like... despair.

There's a cold shiver on his spine, icy beads of sweat on his neck.

"No, I'm not glad," Makoto finally says. "This is not what I wanted. So many people were hurt, died..."

"And you are talking to the one that killed two, possibly three of them," Munakata interrupts, finally looking at Naegi. 

"You didn't exactly mean to," Makoto says firmly. "You never would." When Munakata raises his brow at this, Naegi adds with sad smile, "You were in despair. Are. You think so, at least. And that's why you killed Tengan and Sakakura, why you gave up, didn't you." Makoto nods to himself. It's just like another clasroom trial, finding contradictions and clues, reading between words and comparing them to his theories. "Because you hate despair. And... you must hate yourself, right now. You don't want to change anything about this situation, because you dread of inadvertedly causing more despair."

"Is that so? I suppose... it may be." He responds with a sad, tired smile of his own. "Not quite bad, Naegi. You're still a naive idiot, but..." Munakata shrugs, closing his eye.

"None of us ever wanted this," Naegi says quietly, sitting himself on the chair by the window. "Our hope... brought so much despair, instead of growing stronger."

"I wonder..." Munakata's words are barely audible, his ice-colored eye hazy with thought. "What would Yukizome thought about... all of this." His hand goes up, traces the edge of bandage, tube of IV slithering on cotton sheets. "I wasn't at her funeral... She'd probably... hate me... wish for my death..." There's a slight slur in his words, a clear tell of pain and drugs and having no one to speak with for very long.

"No," Naegi says with sudden force in his voice as he stands and moves to grab Kyousuke's wrist in strong grip. "Yukizome wouldn't. Yes, I barely knew her, but... Her students speak so highly of her, even Komaeda. She'd be..." He smiles warmly. "She'd be so happy for you, sad you had to went through all of this, but happy you did it." His grip tightens. "Please, let me help you. And help me. My hope isn't enough."

For a moment, Kyousuke seems frozen, then he mouths one word ('Chisa'), and, suddenly, unexpected happens as his tall, scrawny body starts to shake in unrestrained sobs, little keening sounds escaping his mouth, tears falling down and soaking through bandage, one eye clenched shut, and, no, Makoto can't just watch this (because that's how Togami cries, that's how those who gritted their teeth and thrown out their emotions cry), so, without any thought, he moves towards, embraces this hurt, young, griefing man and presses him close, strokes his white hair, says, you're safe, you're here, you're not in despair, it's okay, it's fine, just like Komaru said to him, and, oh, Makoto's crying, too, not strong enough to deal with this... this terribly real, human, simple despair of having lost everything.

 

* * *

 

"Behind y—"

Naegi whips back and takes an aim at grouchy man who sneaked extremely close to him while he was checking for survivors. The Despairling bares his teeth in wide smile, blood smeared from his chin to nose. There's animalistic bloodlust in his eyes.

"Makoto!" Kyoko shouts, but he got this. He pulls the trigger.

More blood. Silence, even though the flames are still cracking, people are still screaming.

"Jesus," Togami says quietly, having caught up to him. "Naegi."

Naegi just shakes his head and crouches down to close man's eyes. His fingers linger on his bloody eyelids for a second, then are withdrawn. Makoto stands up and lets out a sigh. Prays quietly, just a few words, request for forgiveness and peaceful afterlife.

"We knew that'd happen, one day or another," he says then, sadly. "That the wondering about... me being an actual murder... would end." He wipes his cheek, feeling incredibly tired. Kyoko jogs to them, but stops, head tilted slightly in thought.

"I'm going to make you an appointment with Gekkogahara," Togami replies, reloading his own pistol. "As soon as possible."

"Thank you." Naegi nods, then points southwest. "Let's... let's go there. We haven't searched this area yet."

No one comments on that, because, in this world, you need to work, not think of all the blood on your hands, staining your shadow. It's simple, really, it's a very simple world.

Naegi looks at the clouded sky, then shakes out those thoughts and gets back to his job, Togami and Kirigiri by his side, dusky hope living through him.

_ This world isn't black or white. It's grey. _

**Author's Note:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: violence ment; eye horror discussion; semi-explicit death via headshot; blood; angst**
>   * yet another hella old thing that got deleted during that famous Depression Fit, now. now it is back. refinished, retouched, stuff like that. enjoy.
> 



End file.
